If the Quay were thronged with watchers
Waving to their sons and husbands,
Blowing kisses to their sweethearts,
And the soldiers on the troopship
Lining all along the taffrail,
Singing loudly “Rule Britannia”
(You have very likely heard it,
The Departure of the Troopship,
On some gramophone or other),
I should make reply and tell you.